Ode to the Metallicar
by Ty3
Summary: If the Metallicar is dead, I'll cry, but since I have a feeling that even magical metallicars can't survive being broadsided by a semi, here's a little tribute drabble. R & R to help comfort me in my grief.


A/N: So, I'm in a terrible love/hate relationship with Eric Kripke. I found out today that not only is the man the creator of Supernatural, but he also wrote the movie Boogeyman. This movie was produced by Rob Tapert and my personal hero, Sam Raimi. It also featured Lucy Lawless and had music by the talented Mr. Joseph LoDuca. Couple this with his ties with possibly the two hottest men on television, Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki, this man has been able to meet and associate with almost everyone I idolize. I'm not sure if he's my new hero or if I want to murder him. Do you think it might be possible to possess him for like a day? Of course, that might make future conversations between him, Jensen, and Jared a little awkward (Jensen: Uh…Eric? Jared and I were just wondering…why'd you French us the last time you were here?) Anyway, the point of this is to emphasize the fact that I don't own anything of Kripke's, I merely lust after his creations and write fanfics like this one.

A/N 2: If any of you have read my fanfic "Who's Got You?" you may remember a comment made about Lindy writing a story about Sam and Dean from the Impala's point of view. This little drabble was inspired by that so, if you want to, you can imagine this being the story that Dean pouts his way into reading and mocks her about. However, it's not necessary to read that fic to enjoy this one. I'm assuming this is enjoyable, of course.

A/N 3: If the Metallicar is dead, I'll cry. But I have a feeling that it may be, so that is why this is an ode.

Dean, I need a car wash. The cross country drive to this remote location hasn't been kind to my metallic finish.

And, because Dean understands me, he runs a hand over my hood and says gently, "I know, sweetheart. I promise we'll get you cleaned up as soon as we finish this job."

I know he means it, too. Dean never lies to me. I'm unique in that way. I've been along for every job he's had since he was sixteen. I've seen him lie and fast-talk his way into an amazing array of things. I've taken him to the remotest backwaters and through terrible danger. And he's always managed to look out for my welfare and shield me from even the slightest scratch. And should I get injured at all, he's always there with a fresh coat of wax or a new tire.

So now I idle patiently, Metallica blaring from my speakers as I wait for him and Sam to return to me for a quick getaway.

I don't mind Sam. He's a good kid. I feel bad for him sometimes. He's always so restless. He can't even relax on my soft leather cushions. But he's no Dean. He doesn't care about me the way that his brother does. He slams my doors sometimes and he mocks Dean for the love he shows me. He doesn't appreciate the fact that without me, they'd be hopeless. I'm the one that gets them to and from their jobs. I'm the one who provides them with shelter on those nights when either there's no motel in sight or there's no cash for one. I'm also the one that houses their necessary weapons, stowing them safely out of sight. I have never acted up when they really needed me or let them down on a quick getaway (although that time with the ghost truck was a close one. If Dean wasn't scared, I was. It was pretty ballsy of Sam to risk the two of us like that). I've even been the one to help attract some of Dean's numerous conquests. And yet, he's more devoted to me than any of those girls we met along the road. I know he thinks of me like a member of his family. I know that to him, I'm more than just a 1967 Chevy Impala. To Dean, I'm his baby and I love him for that.

Suddenly, Dean and Sam come running towards me and the two leap inside of me, out of breath. Dean quickly brings my engine back to life and I spit gravel behind me as I roar back onto the road.

"That's it, baby. Let's get the hell out of here." Dean says to me.

"Dean, you're talking to the car again." Sam points out.

"Yeah, try not to piss her off until we're out of town." Dean returns.

Sam just rolls his eyes and sinks lower into my seat. Sam just doesn't get cars. I can't hold that against him, really.

Although, Dean and I have had our hard times, too. Like that one time we had an…accident. Dean wasn't paying attention to the road. His tape of Iron Butterfly was jamming in my tape player, ruining the tape and our cruising music. Still, he really should have been watching the road. Then, maybe, we wouldn't have run into the rear end of that police car.

My front end was pretty badly banged up and some components inside my hood were knocked loose. Dean felt horrible about hurting me, of course, and refused to leave me. The cop was pissed and called John. And if the cop was pissed, John was livid. He wouldn't even say a word to Dean except, "Get in the car."

Then, he pushed us home. My hood flew open on the way, but John never slowed down. If anything, he sped up despite Dean's cries for him to stop. I think we both were convinced that John was going to run us off the road and kill us. But somehow we managed to get back to the motel. Dean didn't really have the money to fix me, but he refused to listen to any suggestion that involved trading me in or selling me for parts. Instead, he went to bars and played as many games of pool and hands of poker as he possibly could. He suckered people into drinking contests. He even sold some of his valuables until he had enough money to get me fixed up again. Ever since then, he's been especially careful with me. Even when we're flying down the highway at over one hundred mph, I know that he's being the best driver possible. I trust him with every scrap of my metal. He's the best owner a car could have.

"Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah, Sam?"

"If it came down to it…if it was the car or me…?"

"Sam." Dean stops him, glancing over at him levelly, "Do you really need to ask that?"

Sam smiles in relief, but I wait patiently for what I know Dean will say next.

"The car, duh."

"Dude, you suck."

"Sorry, Sam, but you're nowhere near as cool. Or as good to pick up chicks with. And you know…"

"Shut up, Dean."

"What?" Dean asks innocently.

"Stop listing the cars attributes. It's annoying."

"Sammy's jealous of a car."

"You're a jerk."

Dean just smirks at him and, if I could smirk, I would, too, but I'm a car. Let's face it. Sam and Dean may be brothers, but I'm his car. The bond between a guy and his car…well, that's special.


End file.
